Walter’s harsh breath carried over the phone. “I’ve had the devil’s own time keeping O’Donoghue at bay. He’s determined to find out what assignment you’ve been given. Right now, he’s tracking your cellphone.”
“Where is it?”
The boss chuckled. “Charlotte FedExed it to North Carolina. I believe your mother tied it to a goat, unless that’s another quaint Southern figure of speech. I’m told your signal is even now roaming through a pasture on the family farm.”
Sounded like Charlotte. And Mom. Let the bastard sweat. “Where is he now?”
“Under surveillance. In his office for the moment. I told him in no uncertain terms that he was not moving intomyoffice until after my retirement, the date of which I haven’t yet announced.” Walter gave a dry laugh. “His squirming is quite fascinating, and telling. While I take Owen Landry’s word with a grain of salt, O’Donoghue’s actions are not those of an innocent man.”
“Just don’t push him too hard. Remember what happened last time.” Last time, Boss nearly wound up dead. Of course, Lucky blamed Landry back then. In hindsight, Landry wasn’t smart enough to plan and carry out a plot with so wide a range. “I’m leaving Texas now. I got pulled over, but the highway patrol was told to let me pass, and no one stopped me at the border.” If only things had been this easy when Lucky transported drugs for Victor.
“Be prepared. You’ll be stopped ten miles outside Atlanta. We’ll see what happens then. If nothing else, I’m sure O’Donoghue will be alerted.” So much for Walter’s former defense of the DEA man gone wrong.
“Sure thing, boss.” Never before had Lucky tried so hard to draw police attention.
The next few hours passed uneventfully, with Lucky singing along to the radio. Good thing they’d checked the truck for bugs. If anyone had listened in, they’d probably be ready to stab their eardrums. Then again, his crucifix held a microphone, conveniently located close to his mouth.
He stopped for lunch at a barbeque place guaranteed to harden his arteries.
Cops pulled him over again. Instead of an officer getting out, the cruiser’s back door opened and one of Cruz’s guys emerged. One Lucky vaguely remembered from the Chastain case. Lucky crawled into the back of the sleeper cab and let his relief take over driving duties.
He didn’t mind cops so much when they delivered relief drivers.
He’d love to see Bo and Andro tonight. Instead, he’d be traveling non-stop to Atlanta, where he’d park the rig and check into a motel. With any luck he’d actually make it into the room before passing out.
The sun had set the next time Lucky heard a siren. Okay, they must have gotten close to Atlanta. He stayed in back and let his replacement handle the transaction. This time, the officer checked license and registration, and let the truck go within five minutes. Lucky next woke in the parking lot of his motel. The driver parked the truck, gave Lucky a mock salute, then traded places with him in the sleeper cab. “Let me know when you’re sure we’re not being watched, so I can slip out.” He handed Lucky a key card. “Number fourteen.”
Lucky nodded and dragged out of the truck, with his laptop case and the duffel he’d packed. Pink tinged the edges of the sky. He didn’t see anyone, but he’d check out the motel room and then make a circuit of the parking lot. He let himself inside of the room.
Saturday morning. He should be snuggled up with Bo right now, sleeping in as much as Andro allowed. He’d love to lie down and close his eyes, but this close to the end of his assignment, he’d likely stay awake all night and fall asleep five minutes before the clock woke him.
The closed drapes made his room dark as pitch. He dropped his bags to the floor.
A dark blur pinned him against a wall.
“What the fuck?” Lucky pulled back his fist.
“You’re late.”
The lips pressed against Lucky’s changed the punch into an embrace. He’d know that aggressive kiss anywhere.
Lucky found his arms full of man. He batted a hand against the wall, finally locating and lifting the light switch. “Bo. How… how did you…”
Bo nodded to a door in the wall. “I rented the adjoining room. Everyone is in position, and Walter is keeping O’Donoghue busy. I’m here for”—Bo grinned— “moral support.”
“Hold that thought.” Lucky removed his crucifix, opened the adjoining door, and tossed the pendant onto the bed in Bo’s room. No telling who listened in. The next hour or so belonged to him and his man.
Bo circled Lucky and let out a low whistle, scrutinizing him with one raised brow. “You don’t hardly look like you. You look good, but… Maybe we should consider a cosmetologist for our department.”
Viv and Lucky had become, well, not exactly friends, but she’d knocked off pulling his hair on purpose, and he’d stopped hiding her curling iron. If God wanted him to have wavy hair, he’d have been born with a head full of curls.
Come to think of it, he’d seen pictures. He’d been born bald as a cue ball.
Bo kissed him, long and hard. “I could get used to the whiskers.” He tugged lightly on Lucky’s chin hair. “Wow. That’s so real.” The scar tingled from Bo’s gentle stroke. “I do love a bad boy. We don’t have to worry about messing up your disguise, do we?”
“Not really. All’s left is to hand over the truck, then I no longer have to match the driver’s license.” The wallet he’d given Cruz, containing his Simon Harrison license, now resided in the truck.
Lucky’d been gone a few days, however many miles, and a whole lot of fretting. He wanted his man. He shut Bo up with a kiss. In the back of his mind he imagined how the facial hair might feel on Bo’s balls.
